


Selcouth

by kagome_angel



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Nezumi, Dominant Shion, Explicit Sexual Content, I Might Have a Thing for Bottom!Nezumi, Just an Excuse to Write Porn Honestly, M/M, PERFECT BALANCE, Rimming, Sappy Sex, Submissive Nezumi, Tipping the Scales, Top!Shion, give and take, i love these boys, needy boys, words and actions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 02:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13203462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagome_angel/pseuds/kagome_angel
Summary: Selcouth -- Strange, unusual, rare; unfamiliar; marvellous, wondrous.Shion accompanies every “I love you” with visible and tactile proof of the phrase.  Sometimes that means a gentle caress, an unhurried kiss, a sweet smile, a piping hot cup of coffee held carefully between calloused hands, a quiet night watching movies together, making a favorite dish and letting Nezumi have seconds (and thirds) if he wants.Sometimes it means other things.Tonight is one of those nights—one of those nights that means ‘other things’, one of those nights that Nezumi needs somethingelse.





	Selcouth

**Author's Note:**

> Just some quick and dirty sex, really. ;)

Shion loves Nezumi’s name—he loves the way it feels on the tip of his tongue, loves the way the syllables sound when he speaks them, whispers them, _moans_ them, loves the way it makes both of them react (visibly, viscerally). He loves words in general (something he surely picked up along the way thanks to Nezumi’s influence; he was the one who introduced him to Shakespeare – and so many other things – after all). He loves to speak, loves to be heard, especially when Nezumi is the one who’s listening. 

He didn’t used to be this way; eight years ago, when the walls still surrounded No. 6, he had been sheltered, naïve. He hadn’t been the type to speak or to _act_ ; he’d stood perfectly still in the middle of his suspiciously perfect life, _knowing_ something was wrong, and yet lacking the courage to do much about it.

Nezumi had made him brave; and Shion had done a lot of growing up after meeting him for the second time, even after his four-year absence (for the second time). Then the reunion had come, just as Nezumi had promised (Shion had been anxious), and there had been more teaching, from both of them this time, and not just Nezumi.

 _“You still don’t know anything about kissing,”_ Nezumi had joked. And then: _“Or about sex,”_ which had, in all fairness, been absolutely true. However, Shion had proven to be a fast learner, something he’s always been proud of, and something Nezumi probably hadn’t been expecting.

They’ve learned a lot in the four years since being reunited, in the four years that they’ve been _together_ in the truest sense of the word.

(Shion has learned that _home_ is synonymous with _Nezumi_ and Nezumi has learned that sometimes _I’ll wait for you, forever if I have to_ really does mean _just that_.)

They’ve learned a lot about each other, as well. For instance, Nezumi has learned Shion’s affinity for words (and he respects it, since he is a lover of words himself); he has learned to couple actions with words, because at the end of the day, what Shion needs is for Nezumi to _tell_ him things. _Everything_. 

Shion has learned that Nezumi is a man of action at heart. He’s never been one to idly stand by; he’s always had to get his hands dirty, always had to _do_. He prefers substance, requires tangibility. He’s always appreciated being told, but he ultimately needs to be _shown_. Therefore, Shion accompanies every “I love you” with visible and tactile proof of the phrase. Sometimes that means a gentle caress, an unhurried kiss, a sweet smile, a piping hot cup of coffee held carefully between calloused hands, a quiet night watching movies together, making a favorite dish and letting Nezumi have seconds (and thirds) if he wants.

Sometimes it means other things.

Tonight is one of those nights—one of those nights that means ‘other things’, one of those nights that Nezumi needs something _else_.

“Nezumi,” Shion whispers between kisses (and it’s funny how, even now, just saying Nezumi’s name can make him shiver), “Nezumi, I love you.” He says it often, shows it often, _especially_ when they’re together like this, skin against skin, moving, pressing, sometimes urgent, sometimes languid, always _needy_.

“Show me,” Nezumi gasps when Shion shifts _just_ the right way, and the words tingle against Shion’s mouth; the implication hangs heavy in the air, making Shion feel dizzy with want. He knows what Nezumi needs in this moment, knows what Nezumi needs to be shown. It isn’t often that his lover asks for this, but Shion doesn’t waste time. He doesn’t hesitate to roll them so that Nezumi is beneath him, watching through lidded eyes, patient and pliant. 

Right after he rolls their bodies, Shion rolls his hips, loves the way those lashes lower and the way those beautiful lips part, a low moan tumbling forth. Shion wants to hear more. Needs to hear more. Needs it just as badly as his lover needs him to give and to _take_.

“Okay,” Shion murmurs, an unnecessary acknowledgement, a reassurance. He bends to take Nezumi’s mouth again, to taste that desire; he feels it thick on his tongue and he greedily swallows it, dives back in for more and Nezumi lets him, encourages him with a hand pressed firmly against the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair and grasping, pulling to the point of bordering on pain.

Shion doesn’t mind; he enjoys it. However, _he_ is the one doing the _showing_ , here and now. His own hands move, fingers circling wrists, pressing, holding Nezumi down.

“No,” he says, voice firm and yet gentle. Nezumi’s answering smile appears to be one of pleasant surprise. A nod, and Nezumi relaxes. Shion rewards the compliance, the understanding, with another slow roll of his hips, watches as Nezumi bites his lip, no doubt holding back the next sound that threatens to spill out. 

“No,” Shion chastises once more. “Don’t hold it back, Nezumi.” Fingers press more firmly and hips grind down harder, and Nezumi obeys, an unrestrained whimper turning into a low groan as Shion leans down once more, pressing lips and then teeth to the sensitive skin below an ear.

He loves the tractability, loves even more that Nezumi trusts him like this, that he’s more than willing to give himself to Shion like this. Nezumi had always been an incredibly guarded young man before; things had gradually changed over the course of their relationship. For the better.

Shion hums appreciatively, low in his throat, shows his approval by trailing wet, sloppy kisses down Nezumi’s front, pausing and laving attention upon what he knows are more sensitive areas, and he delights in his lover’s whimpers the entire time, his own neglected cock leaking, wanting attention.

“Soon,” he whispers, nipping at a patch of skin along Nezumi’s lower abdomen. He doesn’t know if he’s reassuring Nezumi or himself (perhaps both), but his chin brushes against the head of Nezumi’s cock next, smearing pre-cum, and Nezumi jolts, eyes widening and hips jerking, fingers scrambling for the sheets (for purchase, for something to cling to); Shion feels himself smile, slow and wicked, and at the same time he is bowled over by the fact that he is capable of reducing Nezumi to _this_.

It’s an amazing, fantastic thing that Shion has vowed again and again that he will never, ever take for granted.

Nezumi’s cock is flushed and swollen; it twitches when Shion deliberately purses his lips and blows cool air over it. Nezumi whines and Shion smiles again, lowering his mouth, closing his lips around Nezumi’s erection, dragging wet heat down and up, up and down, until Nezumi is moaning loudly and tensing, trembling. Shion pulls back then, trailing his tongue back up, along the sensitive underside from base to tip. He dips his tongue into the tiny slit at the top, tasting fresh pre-cum, tasting _Nezumi_ , making those hips roll and those lips part on another keening moan.

“So _needy_ ,” Shion murmurs, not tauntingly. After all, he is in much the same state. “I love seeing you this way, Nezumi.” He punctuates the statement (the utter _truth_ ) with more attention from his mouth, lower this time, his tongue pressing flat and firm against the skin of Nezumi’s sac.

He fits himself more snugly between Nezumi’s thighs, maneuvers them both until he’s got Nezumi’s legs draped over his shoulders, and he watches as Nezumi goes still, observing with curious and yet knowing eyes. This is typically clever Nezumi’s move, after all. But things are different now, in this moment, and the control is Shion’s.

So he leans in, letting his tongue dance briefly along Nezumi’s perineum, and then dropping lower, circling Nezumi’s entrance before carefully, teasingly, pressing inside. He knows that Nezumi expected it but the way his body reacts belies that expectancy; Shion adores that it seems he can still surprise him like this; their love is comfortable and yet adventurous, bold, equivalent exchange to an exponential degree. They follow their own little haphazard path together, with smiles and tears and laughter and Shion wouldn’t have it any other way, couldn’t imagine his life bereft of this beautiful boy who stole his heart before he could say no, before he ever knew what any of this meant.

(He knows now, and will never, ever forget.)

“Shion,” Nezumi groans, back arching, hips inching downward, and Shion retreats briefly, which earns him a dangerously low (and incredibly _sexy_ ) growl of disapproval. Under other circumstances, perhaps (definitely), Shion would apologize by immediately returning to the task at hand, pushing his tongue in deeper, harder, to give Nezumi more of what he wants and needs.

“Patience,” Shion tells him, like it’s a reminder (god knows Nezumi tells _him_ often enough). His lover tenses momentarily, as if ready to argue or try something else, but then he seems to think better of it and he relaxes again with a little huff and a barely-there whine which Shion picks up on all the same.

He circles his tongue around the rim of Nezumi’s entrance slowly, again and again, until Nezumi is a shuddering _mess_. Shion can tell that he’s struggling to hold onto some semblance of self-control; Nezumi’s hips are as still as he can possibly make them, no doubt, and patient obedience should be rewarded, shouldn’t it? 

So Shion presses his tongue back into that tight heat, as deep as he can, and Nezumi practically yelps, the sound reverberating in their bedroom, inside Shion’s head. He grips his partner’s hips tightly and begins a rhythm as best he can, licking into Nezumi over and over, reveling in the fact that his lover seems to be enjoying this tip of the scales just as much as Shion himself is. 

He carefully withdraws his tongue after several long moments, shifting once more, pressing two fingers to Nezumi’s lips and his partner is a smart man—he gets it, knows what to do. He sucks on Shion’s fingers, pulls sounds from Shion with the flick of his tongue against the pads of his fingers. Sparks dance low in Shion’s belly and they only intensify when he catches the molten look in Nezumi’s eyes, and _fuck_ patience.

Shion removes his fingers from Nezumi’s mouth and presses them _inside_ of him without preamble, without any attempts at teasing. They can go deeper than his tongue, and he works Nezumi open with quick, hard thrusts of his fingers, making sure to curl them and _rub_ on every other stroke, and he knows it’s good by the sounds his lover is making, by the way his body shakes beneath him. It’s good, and Shion knows he could make him come undone like this, knows that it would be a beautiful sight to behold (from experience—the first time he’d made Nezumi come using his fingers like this, it had surprised both of them, and _ohhh_ , Nezumi’s eyes had slammed shut and his mouth had flown open and he had moaned long and low). Shion _knows_. But. 

It wouldn’t be enough for either of them, not tonight.

It _isn’t_ enough. 

He isn’t as gentle this time when he pulls back and Nezumi gasps, confusion chasing disappointment in his eyes, on his facial features, before he realizes that Shion is only reaching for the bedside drawer, for the lubricant that they’re running quite low on.

(They should probably do something about that, and soon.)

Shion does what he needs to do; he coats three fingers and pushes them, slick and cool, back into Nezumi’s waiting, willing, writhing body. Next to no resistance now, and Shion spreads those fingers, scissors them, opening Nezumi up further, shivering at the way Nezumi clenches and convulses around him. He knows what it’s like to feel that same heat around his cock, knows what it feels like to make love to Nezumi, to _fuck_ him, and he needs it, here and now. 

Nezumi needs to be shown. Shion _will_ show him, until they’re both spent and gasping. They’re intertwined—his needs, Nezumi’s needs, in this moment it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. In this moment, they are one and the same.

Shion deliberately curls his fingers again, rubs the tips of them against Nezumi’s prostate, listens and watches as Nezumi cries out, shuddering hard and gazing back at Shion with desperation in his eyes. There is a plea swimming in those grey depths, one that Nezumi isn’t trying to hide at all. 

Shion loves that, appreciates it, but he also wants to _hear_ it.

“Tell me,” Shion husks, because he needs to be told, just like Nezumi needs to be shown. And his beautiful thespian with his love of Shakespeare and verbosity has, at times, stumbled over and grasped at words, has lost them altogether, only to find them again and string them in the right order, all because he knows that Shion needs it.

Just as Shion knows that Nezumi needs _this_.

(And isn’t it funny, how love molds you, shapes you into exactly that which you are meant to be?)

“ _Please_.” The word is a whisper that Nezumi stumbles over, stutters through as Shion twists his wrist, changing his angle, and then Nezumi moans and Shion echoes it because he _can’t help it_. Nezumi is always attractive. Always gorgeous. Shion always has a hard time ever keeping his hands off of him, whether it’s in moments like this (abrupt near-animalistic possession) or it’s in softer moments (fingers interlocking, lips pressing together soft and sweet). There’s something about him like this, though; there’s something about him _begging_. It’s raw and real and beautiful; _Nezumi_ is breathtakingly beautiful like this, lost in his supplication, needing that which only Shion can give him.

There is a certain security to be found in this particular sort of vulnerability; there’s an undeniable, paradoxical freedom hidden in plain sight inside this kind of surrender—Shion has learned this beneath Nezumi’s hands, has wrapped that lovely gift up and given it back to him (just like _this_ ).

Nezumi looks utterly _wrecked_ and that is exactly how Shion feels gazing down at him; it’s exactly how he feels as he replaces fingers with his aching dick, shifting and moaning just as loudly as Nezumi as he shoves home, stilling for just a moment, partly because it’s almost _too much_ , the simple, primitive act of penetration. 

(Because it’s Nezumi. Because this is what Nezumi does to him.)

His other reason for pausing is due to the worry that he’s given Nezumi too much, too fast, but the legs that circle his waist and the heels that dig into his ass (dragging him forward and impossibly deeper) put any concerns to rest. Hands pull at him too and Shion allows it, lets himself fall forward, his lips parting on a helpless groan as Nezumi whimpers, “Fuck me, _please_ , Shion,” against the shell of his ear.

The thing is, Shion’s probably even further gone at this point than Nezumi. His nails bite into the skin of Nezumi’s hips as his body takes over, his thoughts fizzling to non-existence. All that there is, is this: the slick sound of skin against skin, the hard press of their bodies, the frantic motion of their hips, _yes_ and _faster_ and _more_ and _feels so good_.

And it does. Nezumi _always_ feels good, and Shion indulges both of them, fucking Nezumi hard and fast, keeping it at a fever pitch until Nezumi is gasping, clinging to him, and Shion understands. He reaches between them, tugging his lover’s cock roughly, in time with his thrusts, and Nezumi cries out _loudly_ as he comes, his release spilling hot and slick between them, and there’s more heat and more pressure and _god_ Nezumi feels _incredible_ , clenching around him again and again. Shion wants to take a second, wants to give his partner at least a hint of a chance to recover, but his body has other plans, and his hips keep rocking, his rhythm now all over the place, but the feel of Nezumi continuing to convulse around him over and over again more than makes up for it and he comes with a shout that Nezumi swallows as he crushes their lips together in that earth-shattering moment.

Time crystalizes after. Shion is seeing stars and Nezumi is peppering kisses all over his face, touching him everywhere that he can reach. It’s comforting. It’s as real as everything had been just seconds _before_ , when they’d both been frantic—nothing has been diminished here; if anything, it’s all been amplified.

They need to move. They need to shower. They’ve made a mess and they _are_ a mess, but that’s easy enough to ignore right now, with Nezumi still pinned beneath him, gazing adoringly up at him. Shion’s heart is full and he can tell that Nezumi’s is the same; he can see it in his eyes, feel it in his tender caresses. His muscles are liquid and his nerves are singing, mind still reeling from his orgasm. He’s surprised his limbs aren’t twitching.

“I love you,” Shion murmurs, because he can’t help himself, and because he needs to say it, needs to hear the words as they linger in the air between them. Sometimes, he thinks Nezumi wants to hear it, so he covers all of his bases—there’s no harm in that.

Nezumi brushes trembling fingers against his cheek and his smile is perhaps just a little watery (even though his proud, stubborn lover would _die_ before admitting it). “I feel it. Always. And I love you.”

Shion hears him, loud and clear.

Nezumi loves words and needs actions. Shion loves actions and needs words. They meet in the middle. It _works_.

(They’ve always spoken each other’s ‘language’, after all—time has merely made them _fluent_.)

**Author's Note:**

> They're saps at heart. They really are. Thank you for dropping by to read this. :)


End file.
